The PhD Quality
by The Goddess Of Flash
Summary: When a spirited- albeit zany- woman gets thrown into the world of "those books my friends liked but I never saw the point of," she is sure to cause mayhem, madness and a whole lot of mistakes. "I am female for the last time! Why don't you ask him if he's a woman! He wears a dress for God's sake! Sorry Gandalf, someone had to say it." LegolasxOC
1. Lady of the Paw Paw Ointment

**Rating: T**

For some swearing, intense death and stuff of the like and an insane paranoia of the writer that it would be taken down if it was rated K.

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><p><strong>A Lord of the Rings FanFiction<strong>

_The PhD Quality_

"It is better to travel well than to arrive"

**CHAPTER ONE:**

_Lady of the Paw Paw Ointment_

* * *

><p>It had been a long week.<p>

I'd had long weeks before, but this was a _long_ week.

It was like combining three long weeks and doing it in 168 hours, with 35 hours sleep.

It had been a long week.

Monday to Friday was work 7 am to 8pm, plus dealing with my little siblings (who I was taking care of) and doing maths homework that I insisted belittled my PhD. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to cut it, so there I was- working and doing year 6, 8 and 11 assignments.

I had assumed, albeit naively, that the weekend would be quiet. I had miscalculated.

4 am- wake up for rowing. 0430 drive to rowing. 0500 start making rowing breakfast. 0630- Eat a piece of toast: breakfast. 0800 serve breakfast to a bunch of hungry teenage boys. 0900 drive home. 1000 drive little sister to her friends place. 1030 drive back. 1100 drive other little sibling to musical audition. 1200 drive home. 1230 pick-up little sibling at friends place. 1300-1600 jobs. 1600 do children's homework. 1800 make dinner. 1900 serve dinner. 1930 clean up dinner. 2000 shower, dress, stare blankly at the wall. 2100 last minute homework for children. 2200 jobs for work. 2400 go to bed.

And that was just Saturday.

Sunday had me up and jobbing from five am to midnight.

When I'd finally collapsed onto my bed, children finally in bed for the next week, which was set to be a repeat of the last, I'd given a groan that would make Loki Laufeyson envious. One did not need a 'Hulk Smash' to be in intense pain. One only needed a week dealing with my temperamental boss, fragile partner, insane siblings and a schedule straight from the handbook of Satan. And when I say temperamental partner I mean- oh wait, he's crying, give me a few hours to get back to you.

Yeah, world of the yo-yo.

I'd originally deemed partnering with him a great idea. Top of his field. Nice enough. Genius.

Mistake.

I mean, sure, we worked well together and we were doing awesome work, winning prizes will-nilly, but the whiplash from his emotions was giving me a five-days-a-week headache.

And I wasn't cut out for that kind of distress.

But I digress.

What I was getting to was that I wasn't particularly in the _best _condition when I noticed the small glowing patch of wall in the far corner of my bedroom. It had woken me up, the white, bright light and I had blearily blinked, trying to figure out what it was. I kind of assumed it was a bug and, considering it was two am and I was slightly befuddled, I walked over to it in a stupor and poked the spot gingerly.

Pain.

White.

Lighting.

Black.

Crackling electricity.

White.

Pain lancing and searing.

Black.

* * *

><p>"What is that?"<p>

I stirred, stiff limbs protesting at movement.

"It's moving."

Ugh, whoever that is shut up. I am much too tired and sore to be woken up at this hour.

"I think it's female."

"Of course you would, you're an idiot."

Even in my melatonin-induced state I took offence at that. I was obviously a girl, right? I was _not_ androgynous. I wasn't feminine but I certainly did not look like a man, for a start, I had zero muscles.

"But it looks like a woman."

"It's wearing pants. It can't be a woman. He's a man."

This irritated me enough to open my eyes, looking straight into the helmeted heads of two faces that I would probably forget if I wasn't looking straight at them. That's right- they looked that average. The one of the left smiled, holding out his gloved hand. The one on the right rolled his eyes and swatted his friend's hand away, instead looking at me suspiciously.

Right Guard squinted his eyes at me. "Who are you?"

I stuck my bottom lip out, childish instincts cancelling out self-preservation. "Why should I tell you when you abducted me?"

"Abducted?" Right Guard asked, looking at Leftie in confusion.

Leftie just ignored him, smirking. "Told you she was a girl."

I bit my tongue to keep from laughing at the duo, when a loud voice cut off our… conversation? Was it a conversation? "What are you fools doing?"

I gulped, gah, authority, panic!

Well, at least I tried to panic but, sadly, my limbs weighed more than an obese Rhinoceros each so I was left lying there, watching out of my peripheral vision (my head also refused, stubbornly, to move) as the two saluted, faces pale and looking more nervous than I was at Christmas. (I always felt that I would be getting coal although I had once gotten coal and, funnily enough, that had made me cope much better with the thought of getting coal again.) "Sir!" Leftie exclaimed, glancing between me, Rightie and Authority Man.

Authority Man, whose voice was strangely familiar- my mind protesting at the thought that it couldn't produce the face to match the name- spoke again, this time sounding a lot calmer. "What are you two doing?"

Leftie swallowed and refused to answer, mouth glued into a line of petrification. Rightie looked at Leftie and then back at Authority Man. "Sir! We were patrolling around, like we were supposed to, when we saw a flash and came upon this unconscious… er, woman."

Oh my god. Still with that? To lay down the law and stop being called a 'woman…maybe' I frowned. "I am a woman; there should have been no pause there. I am female. I am _not_ a male. I have a fe before male. Female. Got that?"

Leftie and Rightie looked at me like I was an alien while I heard Authority Man chuckle softly. "And who are you?" Authority Man asked, still- annoyingly- out of my line of sight.

I sighed, wondering why the voice was still nagging at me. "I would tell you but I can't see you so I won't."

"So move."

"Easier said than done. I feel like a beached whale. And my fingers are all tingly."

The man chuckled again and this time I heard shuffling before a bearded man appeared in my line of vision. "Better?"

"Well no, I still can't move, but thank you for your consideration."

He chuckled again and when the skin crinkled around his eyes my mind flashed a face onto the back of my eyelids. Dumbledore. This man was Dumbledore.

Except that was impossible.

I smiled back at the Dumbledore-look-alike. "I'm Arya."

"My name is Gandalf, how did you happen here?"

I furrowed my brows. Wasn't Gandalf the name of that wizard from those books my friends liked but I never saw the point of? The one with the evil guy with Conjunctivitis and lots of people who liked rings and small people? What were they called… um, Hobbos? No, Hobbins? Hobbils? Wait- Hobbits! That's right- and Gandalf was the one who showed them and their assorted gang of men (and an elf, I think- oh, and an angry dwarf) around Middle England? No, Middle Earth. Gandalf showed them around Middle Earth to destroy the One Ring, I think. I mean, sure, I'd liked the movies well enough, but they were long so I'd only seen them once, a while ago.

But that was beside the point, clearly this old man here was a cosplayer and I'd somehow ended up at some sort of convention. That, at least, made sense.

I was glad something did.

"Very funny, but I'm kind of confused as to how I got here, and where is here?"

"Minas Tirith."

Uh, what?

"Uh, what?"

"Minas Tirith, the capital of Gondor."

Some weird place in Middle Earth I assume. "I am amused by your jokes but this is going to be much less amusing in about ten seconds so either you tell the truth about who you are and where we are or I sue you every which way for whatever my lawyer says I can." I stated calmly, an angelic smile fixed in place to cover my extreme irritation.

'Gandalf's' face fell. "I assure you I am not lying. This is Minas Tirith and I am Gandalf the Grey."

I scowled, the old man was a pain, and looked over at Leftie and Rightie. "You two!" I barked, lack of sleep quickly stealing me of all my patience. "Explain where this is _now_."

"Uh…"

Thank you Leftie. Thanks.

"This _is_ Minas Tirith, Ma'am." Rightie stated, looked for all the world like he would rather be being eaten alive by crocodiles at this point.

"I said tell me where-"

"Arya, tell me why this isn't Minas Tirith ?" 'Gandalf' asked coolly, interjecting my breakdown with his ice-cold blue-grey stare.

"Um, for one, that's a fictional place and, secondly, that's a fictional place." I answered waspishly, glaring straight back at his barely-concealed inquisitive stare.

He tilted his head to the side then squatted down, reaching out a hand to touch my forehead. When he withdrew his hand, humming softly in thought I asked derisively, "So, tell me, am I feverish Oh Great One?"

"No…" He mused, watching my face as I would watch a particularly interesting specimen. "But this is most interesting."

"You're telling me."

"Why do you think Minas Tirith is fictional, may I ask?"

"You may indeed. And the answer is because it doesn't exist. The same as you don't exist. You're probably a retired accountant with too much time on his hands."

"I assure you I am not."

I scoffed. "Really now, prove it."

'Gandalf's' bushy eyebrows seemed very amused by the challenge as the wizened man stood, holding his staff in front of him. I glanced at the glorified stick, wondering what the knotted brown thing was going to prove-

JESUS CHRIST PUT ME DOWN!

I 'eeped' and flailed my hands around, gaining movement (hurray) from the sudden rush of adrenalin to my limbs (boo) because I was levitating off the goddamn ground. No, not hovering, not being held, but actually suspended three feet off the ground by… Well, if he's _actually_ Gandalf and this is _actually_ that fancy name place that I have already forgotten, then the thing suspending me above the dusty ground, much to my surprise and the horror of Leftie and Rightie, must be…

"OKAY I BELIEVE YOU! I BELIEVE IN MAGIC AND FAIRIES, I DO, I DO! NOW PUT ME DOWN!"

He chuckled, (again, seriously, I was a comedian around here), and ungraciously let me fall to the ground, effectively knocking me out as my head hit a rock.

Gee, thanks wizard.

* * *

><p>"… <em>Doing? He can't bring in… well I would… yes."<em>

I stirred, eyelids flickering and irritation swelling at being woken (once again) by male voices cutting into my heavy slumber.

"_I don't know, father says that… yes, I think we should."_

It was strange, like being caught on one side of a conversation, watching your friend chat to someone on the phone while you tried to piece together the silent side you weren't privy to. Only, in the case of your friend talking on the phone at least you knew the person, and, because of that, were slightly clued in to what they might be talking about, given time, circumstance and facial expression of face.

All I had to run on was a voice coming through the door in stops and starts. With me only catching the louder parts of the conversation. Snippets of a whole.

Wait, door?

I forced my eyes open and sat up, gingerly crossing my legs and silencing the protests of said organs and limbs with the thought of remaining (once again) in the dark in regards to my situation. Glancing around the room I saw white, plain, old furniture, and a spectacular view for a second before there was a loud bang and two men clumped though the doorway to the room, glancing around with hostile curiosity.

They both froze when they saw me, while I kind of let my jaw drop.

They looked like Robin Hood and one of his Merry Men.

And that's when my memory of before hit me- Rightie, Leftie, Gandalf, levitation- Lord of the Rings.

I was in Lord of the – insert expletive of your choice- Rings. Great.

Just great.

Not Harry Potter, which I knew much more about, or Narnia, or any other literary classic, but the one with hairy-footed people as protagonists and a cult following who, to be honest, kind of scared me.

Also- how the hell did I get here? Why am I here? Why am I specifically here in this time frame? _Why _the hell was I_ here? How?_

Bringing me back to the present of this universe I watched as the two Robin Hoods, both dressed to the nines in weaponry and leather, stared at me, frozen in place. Remembering my jaw I pulled it back up, and waved slowly at the two who- by their features- must have been related. Guessing their relation by age and face, I gathered they were brothers. "Uh, hi." I stated, lamely, a little bit confused at their ever-present stares, when I remembered this was practically the Middle Ages and these people were not used to women with short-ish hair, a tan, pants, and a modest for my time, but revealing to them, T-shirt.

And I wasn't even under the covers of the bed I had been chucked onto by (I supposed) Gandalf, instead all of my twenty-first century-ness was on display.

Well, this should be interesting.

The older one recovered first, schooling his face and poking his brother in the side. They both shifted uncomfortably and looked slightly to the left of me. I suppose it was because I was 'undressed', ah, chivalry, you never cease to amuse me. I grinned at the flush creeping onto the younger's cheeks. "It's fine, I don't feel that naked so you two should both be a bit more chill- uh, I mean, relaxed about it."

Damn, modern lingo was going to cause trouble here.

The older, clearly the superior of the two, looked at me cautiously, as if to see if I was being serious. "We didn't mean to intrude milady."

I scoffed. "Milady, that's a change. Don't bother, my name is Arya and I am _so_ not a lady. Not that I'm a man, I just… ugh. I just have a foot stuck permanently in my mouth. I am, in fact, female."

The older grinned faintly while the younger finally managed to look at me, face still a smidge red.

How cute.

"My name is Boromir and this is my brother Faramir. Are you Gandalf's guest?"

I glanced around the room again, taking in the spacious layout and good view. Probably not something a commoner had access to. "I guess. Although we don't really know each other. He kind of just levitated me, it was all very fast." I mused, staring through the window and out into the city sprawled out below, and the vast plain stretching beyond that.

Blinking, I brought my attention back to the brothers, who were exchanging a meaningful glance before they both looked back at me. "If I may ask," Boromir began, clearly expecting I would answer the question, despite the polite prefix, "what are you doing here?"

"Well… there was this light." I bit my lip. This may be a hard explanation to stomach. Switching my story half-way through I gave my version of a charming smile, "and when I woke up there were these two guards. And they were awful. Anyway, then Gandalf arrived and we chatted and then he pretty much knocked me out, and I assume he took me here, so, to answer your question, I am here as Gandalf's buddy slash as an interested third party." Hey, I may not have been very taken by the trilogy, but I'd take what I got, and show an interest in it. A large amount of interest, actually- wasn't this the series with the pretty elves and hilarious dwarves? Any chance to see a new species, as a biologist, was fascinating, although, I doubt I'd be allowed to cut them up (Yes my PhD is in infectious diseases but I had a closet fetish for anatomy and all things biology- it was the most beautiful subject in the world, and my best subject, so I kind of lived the biology life. And no, it's not that obsessive. I have other hobbies. Well, three or four… two… one, truth be told.).

"Buddy?" Faramir asked, piping up for the first time.

I raised my eyebrows, ready to do some educating when I realized that 'buddy' was probably as weird, for me, as someone sprouting Italian at me. "Oh, um, friend. I'm like his friend who chillaxes while- uh, who watches what he does with interest." I hummed, happy with that explanation, but adding on quickly, "Oh, but I can still, like, go and do things on my own and stuff. Probably. Actually, you know what, where is Gandalf? I won't have to be making unclear proclamations when I see him."

Faramir and Boromir exchanged glances, again, before the latter spoke, eyebrow quirked marginally in bemusement, "Gandalf is Osgiliath, but should you not know that as his companion?"

I took a short breath out of the side of my mouth, "Well… companion…" I glanced out of the window, mind whirring, despite the mass of exhaustion that seemed heavier than ever hanging over me. "I would say kindred spirit in the amusement of all things, but not necessarily well acquainted enough to go with besties." At Faramir's open mouth I quickly modified this statement to, "Closest confidante." Shooting the man a wink, this seemed to make him both parts entertained and uncomfortable. I stretched my hands above my head. "But look at me, talking about myself! Tell me about yourselves, boys."

While they exchanged glances I subtly felt around in the pockets of my pyjamas. Before I'd been pretty sure I could talk my way out of any situation. Now? Well now I needed to see if I had a gun, stick of dynamite, gum, two buttons, a hamburger, a white cat, an HB pencil and a piece of string handy. (Don't ask, just let me tell you: best escape plan ever/most fool proof one involves those things and only those things). Unfortunately I came up empty, almost laughing aloud when I felt a conical shape. The only thing in my pockets.

And it was Paw Paw Ointment.

Well, great.

I sighed and looked back up to see the brothers inspecting me curiously, watching me exasperatedly run my thumb up and down the small tube which I'd fished out of my pocket.

I chuckled. "You'd think I'd come better prepared."

Boromir grinned back at me but Faramir's eyebrows sank into a frown. "What is that?"

I glanced down at the tube. "Um, happiness in a bottle?"

"No, what _is_ that?"

I opened my mouth to answer before I realized I was holding _plastic_, i.e. a substance not invented here for, what, six thousand years? That is, if the anecdote Jean and Selene had once spent _seven_ hours telling me (they'd gotten side-tracked and at the end of that conversation I'd ended up with pink hair and a lot of random knowledge about Kim Kardashian) was correct. Middle Earth/The Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit was- according to them- our Earth thousands of years ago. And while I didn't usually take what they said seriously they were _avid_ fans and I wasn't about to dismiss their useless knowledge. Or I suppose it wasn't exactly useless anymore. I looked down at the plastic tube, up and to Faramir and back down again. Bugger! I groaned and looked back up at him. "Uh, it's a remnant of my home… yup."

"And where is that?" Boromir asked, deliberately casual.

"A few years away and a hell of a lot more dead people." I laughed at my own joke then elaborated at his quirked eyebrow, "It's very far away. I don't think you've heard of it."

Faramir opened his mouth to protest but his brother intervened. "So, Lady Arya, what interest do you have with Gandalf's affairs, other than being his 'kindred spirit'?"

"Oh, er, well, you see I'm kind of looking for a good thing to, uh, pass the time with and I heard Gandalf was rather… uh, interesting. But, again, so much talking about me. Please, do elaborate on who the both of you are."

Of course I knew that Boromir was the guy from the meme and Faramir was the depressed looking fighter from the movies; however, if I was going to stay in this world then I would probably need to know more about these people than what I had garnered from watching the television with a half-baked interest. And the few tidbits I had promptly forgotten when Jean and Selene had imparted me with their 'sage LotR wisdom'. So, all in all, I would practically starting from scratch.

Ugh.

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor the second, Steward of Gondor, and Captain of the White tower. This is my little brother Faramir."

I smiled as demurely as possible. "Hello Boromir, son of Denethor the second, Steward of Gondor, and Captain of the White Tower. Hello my little brother Faramir."

Boromir scoffed.

"Do you always introduce yourself with your titles attached?"

He shrugged. "You asked."

"Touché."

He frowned. "What does that-"

"It basically means 'fair enough'. Anyways, how come you two are here? Don't you have better things to do then come storming into an undressed 'Lady's' room?"

Boromir shot me a shrewd look. "By your own admission you are no Lady. And, besides, we were asked by our father," a slight twinge of annoyance flitted across his face, almost imperceptible, "to find out the identity of Mithrandir's mysterious guest."

"Well," I gestured around the room, and then back at myself, in all my bed-haired glory, "here I am."

He grinned again and I was pretty sure, in that second, that we would be firm friends.

Faramir still regarded me dubiously.

I would work on him.

"Indeed. And yet you have not managed to answer a single question, Arya."

I considered pretending otherwise (I'd given them my name) but at his raised eyebrows and Faramir's hand poised ever-so-casually (and probably out of instinct) over his sword, I changed my answer for the siblings. "Indeed. And that is a mighty shame. The only issue I find with it, though, is that even if I did answer your questions you would still be confused."

"Oh really?"

Smug asshole. I took a deep breath. Either I could try and continue with the 'I woke up here' line (which was true but not entirely convincing) or I could tell them that they were fictional characters. That I knew the future, broadly speaking. I mean, the good guys won, the ugly CGI creatures died, the ring melted and Sam (the adorable little Hobbit who, for some reason, followed the angsty protagonist around) didn't receive enough credit. Oh, and didn't Cate Blanchett sail away with Gandalf, protagonist and the cranky elf with the tiara?

I tossed up my options. On one hand I could be seen as a liar, on the other a madwoman. Well, that is, unless I made up some bull about me knowing the future (did anybody say Professor Trelawney) or something. That could explain my knowledge. But, then again, my knowledge was not nearly detailed or specific enough for that to be a viable- unless. Unless I said _I_ was _from_ the future. Unless I said I was from the future and I knew all of this paraphernalia, albeit loosely, because it was a folk tale or something. Oh. Oh yes. That could work.

Just as I opened my mouth to fly with this new excuse my door flew open again, and a harried looking man appeared in the doorway, glancing between the three of us before frowning. "I was informed that you would both be interrogating the female that arrived."

I raised my hand. "Guilty, although it's more like a chat."

The man looked at be dubiously. "You are a woman?"

"Excuse me?"

Interrupting what was sure to be a long rant Boromir gave a pointed cough. "Yes, Addrar, now was there a reason you came?"

"Oh, your father wishes you to bring the priso- uh, guest, to the throne room to meet him."

The three men looked at me, obviously waiting to gauge my reaction. I beamed. "I'm cool with going to the throne room, is it- wait. Boromir, Faramir, are you guys Princes?"

The brothers exchanged 'looks'. "Princes?"

"I mean," I relented, "Boromir, you said you were the son of the steward, but then why are we going to meet your father in the throne room?" The three exchanged looks and while they were figuring out an appropriate response my mind clicked. "Oh, is the King away? Is that why the steward's in the throne room?"

Boromir gave a very un-royal snort. "The King's been away for almost a thousand years."

"What? Is he immortal or something?"

"No," Boromir studied me with an unreadable expression, "the last King perished many years ago, since then the Stewards have ruled over Gondor."

I took a moment to digest this, but before I could question any further Addrar sniffed, "Well, now that we've relived our history with you, stranger-"

"Name's Arya, sweetie."

"Stranger, we should make for the throne room."

I shrugged- haters going to hate right? I got up to follow the soldier, when he noticed my clothing and turned a vibrant shade of purple, turning away from me. "W-what are you wearing?"

I looked down. "Um, my pyjamas? Problem?"

Boromir shot me a grin. "Maybe not for those who don't you consider you a Lady," if he is insinuating I am any kind of 'scarlet woman' with that cheeky look I will fry him ten ways to Honolulu, "but meeting my father such clothed may cause offence."

"Offence? What has Mickey Mouse ever done to anyone?" At his confused expression I clarified, "that's the mouse on the top."

He nodded but gestured to my apparel nonetheless, "We will still need to find you suitable clothes. Faramir, do you know if any of the noblewomen would be willing to lend clothes to Arya?"

His fawn brown haired brother shrugged. "None that I-"

"Hang on, a dress?"

The brothers turned to me, perplexed- yet again- by one of my comments. "Yes…?"

"No, no. That won't do. I only wear pants."

Boromir quirked an eyebrow. "I assure you, here it is considered customary for women to-"

"Yeah, no. I'm not wearing a dress."

"But-"

"No, either I go in pants or I go naked, your choice."

Boromir rolled his eyes then gestured for Addrar to fetch some more clothes. "On your head be it."


	2. Gandalf the Really, Really Old Guy

**A Lord of the Rings FanFiction**

_The PhD Quality_

"Apparently wizards poke their noses in everywhere"

**CHAPTER TWO:**

_Gandalf the Really, Really Old Guy_

* * *

><p>"Well," I hummed, staring at the pair of coarse pants, leather jerkin and pirate-esque shirt, "I suppose so."<p>

Boromir, looking rather irritated that it had taken so long to get the clothes (leaving him, Faramir and I awkwardly standing around with my attempts at weather small talk failing abysmally) was shooting me a pointed glare. Get the clothes on now.

Someone didn't want to disappoint Daddy.

Faramir pushed his brother out of the room faster than I could say 'prude' when I asked whether the two were just going to watch me strip. Boromir was still shooting me a wolfish grin as his brother slammed the door. Finally given some alone time I inspected my room properly.

The bed, while looking like a puff of wind would make it cave in on itself was quite comfortable- a single with a wooden frame. Adjacent to the bed was a little table with a glass of water perched atop. Opposite the door was a small, white, dresser. The walls, floors and ceilings were also white.

Which, had it been the urban, clinical white of my time, would have given me a headache. But this was less refined. The stone, with various chips and some discolouring in parts that made it look ashen, made the whole room feel less clinical and more textured. All in all it was quite nice. However, when the door/window with small balcony attached was thrown into the equation I could see people renting this room for a five star holiday retreat.

The small ledge (with a railing that doubled as a foot stool it was so small- honestly, health and safety anybody?) looked out, immediately, onto the thatched roof of some kind of shed, and then into a large training yard. The yard had a few sweaty looking men batting each other tiredly with wooden sticks but the interesting part of the view lay further out. It seemed the city was built into some kind of rock, built up towards the sky. My room was relatively high and afforded me a stunning vista.

Splayed out before me was miles of emerald grass and brown dirt, and then, straddling a sparkling river, a stone city. Even further still was a black mountain range.

Looking out, with the white city in my peripheral, the sheer expanse and space took my breath away. Not to mention the simple beauty of the scenery. While it sounded rather pish-posh the clear space as far as the eye could see, the lack of twenty-first-century complication (especially coming from a city girl who was used to airplanes, loud children playing on the street in the wee hours of the morning and skyscrapers), the crisp, clean air and the dizzying height I was at, made me fall immediately in love with the city. It was like waking up atop the Empire State building, only, the rest of New York had vanished, leaving it the way it was pre-civilisation.

What a gorgeous place.

And I probably would have stayed, watching nothing, at the balcony if I hadn't heard the faintest trace of Boromir and Faramir's voices from outside my door. Blinking I quickly changed clothes, folding my old ones up at the foot of my bed, and tried not to wince at the quality of the fabric I'd been given. I could hardly begrudge the fact I'd been given free clothes, could I? But, then again, the way it felt like the shirt and pants had never been through any form of softening, was less than endearing.

Eventually I opened the door, trying my hardest not to squirm from the inspecting looks from the brothers and the fact that I was starting to get itchy. Gah! How did these people live like this?

Faramir was the first to notice the fact that, although the men's pants were long, baggy and mostly covered my feet, I was going foot-commando. "You do not have any boots?"

I contemplated this for a second. "Well, it was very rushed when I came to, uh, companion my life away with Gandalf. I kind of, er, forgot. Forgot my shoes… ish."

"Ish?"

"Well I would have remembered them," I told Boromir, frowning down at my feet, "if I had had more than no notice. Alas, what is to be- is to be! Now, off to meet Father dearest. Lead on!" I slapped him on the back with my best attempt at geniality and he, shooting me an exasperated look, began walking.

As we began trotting off I saw Addrar slip out of nowhere to accompany us. I sent him my best impression of a friendly smile. He grimaced and ignored me after that.

Four flights of stairs (which made me turn red in the face as I suppressed the urge to pant like a dog- my fitness and stamina almost humourlessly bad when compared the men I walked with who seemed like four flights of stairs was merely the salt and pepper on their usual three-course meal of exercise), an endless supply of carbon-copy hallways, a few eye-lash batting ladies (most of whom looked at me as if I had a knife through my cranium, i.e. horror, disgust and fear), a couple of bowing soldiers and an endlessly supply of awkward glances (no one in my travelling party seemed very chatty) later we had finally arrived in a courtyard.

And, holy guacamole, I had thought the view was good in my room. This, this, this was awesome. The courtyard, gradually narrowing to end in a point overlooking the city (as we were currently at the top of the city- Faramir explained patiently at my gobsmacked expression), was pure white with a view that could keep your jaw on the floor for days. However, the true beauty lay in the three strips of grass in the middle, parallel to each other and the vibrant shade of green creating a contrast with the white stone that looked surreal. The middle strip, or at least the part closest to the large building that was the throne room (kudos again to Faramir for being my guide), had a sparkling mini-lake. A pond, really. But, nonetheless, the view of the white stone reflected in the water was charming. The best part, although, was the white tree in the middle of the strip with the pond- with a moat of water it looked like something out of a fairy tale, both enchanting and sublime. I'd never seen a white tree before and it was both quaint and ethereal.

The outside of the throne room, with its vaulted windows, slit windows and huge doors, was gorgeous too. But, if I was honest, the outside won the prize for me.

Boromir, scoffing when I voiced my (unpopular) opinion, looked down at me. "The throne room is the legacy of-"

"Spare me the history lesson, Professor Bins." I interjected, waving my hand carelessly.

"Professor…? My name is Boromir." He spoke clearly, looking at me like I was touched in the head. "Boromir." He inspected my face for a second, obviously wondering if there were any outward signs to my inner lunacy. I bit my tongue to keep from sticking it out the side of my mouth and walking like a zombie. Or, I thought laughingly, performing an impromptu dance to further freak out the ye-old-speak man in front of me.

"Sheesh. No sense of humour." I quipped, ignoring his quirked eyebrow, favouring following Faramir- who had marched on ahead (either not caring about or not hearing our difference of opinion) and was now at the doors to the throne room. I noticed Faramir was biting his lip and Boromir, although appearing unruffled, was squeezing his sword's hilt and rolled my eyes.

"Your father is not going to eat me. Chill." The duo opened their mouths and talked over each other, something about being respectful from Faramir and being careful from Boromir, but I stalled their well-meant warnings with another eye roll. "Down boys. My boss back home threw me off a boat once," I had inadvertently called his wife, erm, a whale, and while he was yelling at me I'd slipped right off the cruise boat and landed head first into the freezing Atlantic. He had refused to let me back on and I had to tread water until I'd apologized profusely for my insult to his manly honour. I refused to ever go on a boat again after that. "And I'm still alive- so let's just get this meet the parents over with, yeah?" For a second I was reminded of regular meet the parents- Hi Mr and Mrs Smith, I'm Arya and I'm dating your son, so nice to meet you- mostly met with 'you heathen', 'do you two ever engage in sexual activities' or 'come in for some tea, I have some photos you might be interested in…'

I hoped fervently none of those usual greetings would be used. Not that I wasn't sure Faramir and Boromir had been _adorable_ babies, if their full-grown hunkiness was anything to go by. But I just wasn't… I mean, they were attractive, yes, but not my type.

The two brunettes were way too rugged for a city girl like me.

Give me a multi-lingual, clean-shaven man with an understanding of how to cook spag-bowl over a roguish, sword-wielding, devastatingly charming man any day. As long as the clean-shaven man had an intelligence in _something_ interesting (I didn't only like science types- they just, more often than not, had more stimulating comments that accountants. Which my dad was. Shout out to Percy, the best dad and accountant ever. Love you dad. You're very interesting. Ignore me. When I say accountants I don't mean you. At all.) I was sold. Remembering my rubbish date with the guy from anthropology (apparently people going on dates _don't_ like talking about the pros and cons of males also having a uterus- and whether or not they would still be fertile) I amended the statement in my head. I was mostly sold. Probably.

Almost always.

I was soon drawn out of my memories of my less than efficacious love life, by the sight of two armed guards pushing open the doors and Addrar slipping off to the side. Little weasel obviously wanted to avoid the scrutiny of Daddy Dearest.

I couldn't blame him- I as hardly looking forwards to meeting the man his sons looked scared-out-of-their-pants of.

Inside might have been pretty, if it was filled with food and a party of well-dressed people, but it was more sombre than stunning. The windows spilled out an (in my opinion) inadequate amount of light, considering the smaller pillars were black and the smaller throne at the end of the room (in which sat, I presumed, Boromir's father) was coloured obsidian. The marble used to make the room was flawless, make no mistake, but the light to dark ratio and lack of good interior decoration made the designer in me (an alter ego placed by my obsessive decorator of a mother) writhe. Also, the man on the miniature throne was wearing black, which equal parts washed him out and looked awful with his dark throne. The taller, higher throne, all white with a gold thing above it, was much nicer.

I assumed this was their disappearing King's throne, if the better colour choice was anything to go by.

Inwardly I hoped that Boromir could go and find a King for his people so that someone could sit in the pretty chair and cancel out the negative effect of Faramir Post-Aging and his greasy hair lickety split.

Outwardly I continued studying the room with an air of fake appreciation.

A little voice inside me chastised me for judging the steward so immediately after seeing him. I silenced it with the memory of the boys' worried looks when my presence had been requested (I mean he was supposed to be their father- weren't they supposed to think he could do no wrong? Hero worship was normal in these times, I thought) - he was probably not going to be very amiable, not matter what kind of assumptions I drew in my mind of him. Such is life.

And death, realistically, if I screw up this meeting.

Although the afterlife might not be as do-or-die, no pun intended.

No pressure. Just the future of your neck riding on meeting this intimidating man, Arya.

Breathe.

I fixed a politely interested look onto my face- the one that worked so well with donors- and stopped, flanked by Boromir and Faramir, a few metres from the throne.

He looked up slowly, watery blue eyes scanning our trio, eventually resting on me. Much to my complete surprise (oh how I amuse myself… Sarcasm Queen thy name is Arya) his already permanently glare-y eyes narrowed. Lank hair, with the texture of seaweed and the colour of a dirty street pigeon, swung as he slowly moved so that he was sitting up straight, hands on the arms of his chair and regarding us with- what he thought was- an imperious stare.

He looked like he had motion sickness.

I swallowed.

"Boromir." He stated, eyes moving slowly up and down the form of his elder son. I resisted the urge to add 'and Faramir' when he proceeded to ignore his youngest. And me. But, as soon as he continued speaking I rather wished he _had_ forgotten me. "Who is this?"

"Her name is Arya, Father. She is Gandalf's… guest."

Guest? Well, okay then. And the use of a feminine pronoun- kudos Boromir- was always a good sign. It was great when these people got my gender right.

"She? _That_ is a man I see before me."

_Keep quiet. This man can execute you. Do not correct him. In the Middle Ages people threw witches into lakes on unfounded suspicions based on people not liking each other. Do not correct the crazy man. Head stay attached- comprende_? I repeated in my head, biting my tongue so hard I began to taste blood. I glanced over at Faramir, expecting to share an eye roll or an exasperated glance or _something_ but he was merely staring stonily at his father.

Ten points for being supportive.

Boromir corrected his father- my hero- and, Denethor, face swelling like a frilled-neck lizard hissed at me, "_What_ are you wearing?"

A pair of pants you nong. And a shirt that I am liable to hulk out of in rage if I find out all clothes here are like this piece of horror. That is, assuming I was going to be stuck here. Here. In Middle Earth. In Lord of the Holy Moly Rings. I swallowed a lump in my throat at the thought I might never go home, my anger dissipating at the unresolved question, and focused on reality.

"I asked Boromir and Faramir to give me these clothes specifically," I started, absolving the brothers of the glare the man was sending at me, "as… well…." Think on your feet Arya! Quick! "As, where I am from, women are allowed to wear what the men wear."

Rubbish.

Utter rubbish.

A PhD. A Nobel Prize. Graduated from high school at fifteen. Super sibling who could take care of three younger brothers and a sister with barely any sleep and a pinch of alcohol. Winner of the female, junior, all-day eating contest in Perth, 2000 (also the last time that happened due to children being sick everywhere, which, apparently, is not good for them). Cluedo Master. And I couldn't even come up with a better lie than- 'oops sorry, is this offensive? Wow, culture shock! It's an average outfit for me.' While, strictly speaking, it was true it would hardly be a convincing lie. People here wore corsets. Corsets. And my best excuse was that it was 'totes chill' where I came from? I was losing it. I was going to be _roasted_ alive by this man.

"Indeed? I have not heard of such a place that allows women to cavort around dressed as such."

Sneaky little bastard. His words and 'merely curious' tone of voice implied no threats. His flashing eyes contradicted that explicitly. Also, trying to indirectly ask where I came from was plain Slytherin. I doubted this man was as dumb as his lack of hair-washing skills suggested.

"Well, er, you wouldn't have. It's, uh, very far away."

"Yes? Pray, tell, where is this mysterious place you speak of? What is it called?"

_The city of None-of-your-Business located up your arse you pompous prick. What? That's offensive? Oh I'm sorry, I just like telling the truth._

_Please don't use a guillotine on me._

Although I hadn't grown up there, the first country that popped to mind was the one I was currently living in. "It's a place, country- er, Queendom, called England. It's, uh, very far north." Boromir shot me a disbelieving look. "Very far north. Like, unbelievably far north. So far it almost seem like you're," lying about its location, "in the North Pole," which they didn't have, "I, mean, uh, it's so far north it's practically at the edge of the world."

"Beyond the Lonely Mountain?"

The name rung a bell and I frowned. Where had I heard of it before? A memory of sitting in the theatre, surreptitiously throwing popcorn at Jean (who was focused on a bunch of dwarves, three of whom were very sexy) came, unbidden, to the forefront of my mind. The tall hill in the Hobbit franchise? Wasn't that the Lonely Mountain? Well, that would have to do as my geographical marker.

I flashed him a smile. "Yeah. Way beyond."

Looking unconvinced, he changed tack. "What has brought one such as… _yourself_ to Gondor?"

Would you believe a supernatural, glowing light in the far corner of my bedroom in the wee hours of the morning?

"I came to visit Gandalf who is an old friend. Because, ah, I wanted desperately to, um, chat."

I was going to be executed. This is the end. Death approaches. I can see the Grim Reaper. The scythe is looking particularly polished today. My soul was ripe for the picking. Oh Jesus, Mother Mary and the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

His eyebrow quirked upwards as if he sensed I was _this far_ from my story crumbling. My story was like a melting moment- it looks delicious and sturdy and wow did she actually cook that but the second you applied any pressure (i.e. biting) it would inevitably crumble. "You are Gandalf's friend? How did you come to meet him?" It was phrased as a question but it sounded more like a threat. What I heard in the subtext was this: _call yourself Gandalf's friend, punk? Think you can lie to me, young whippersnapper? Do I look like I'm an idiot._ The short answer? Yes, but I doubt you are, my liege.

"It's a long story."

He gestured to the empty chamber. "I have time."

Oh man oh man oh man oh- "Father?" I blinked and looked quizzically at Boromir who had stepped forwards. He waited until his father's (mean) glare had shifted to him before gesturing, "If I may?"

His father nodded and he gestured behind us. "Perhaps we should hear the story of the guards who found her, before continuing her interrogation?"

Interrogation? This was an interrogation? I thought this was a friendly chat. Oh boy.

I had a niggling feeling Denethor would have shot this idea down with a harsh word and an uncomfortable punishment if anyone else had suggested it but, as it was His Holiness Boromir, he simply gave a world weary sigh and nodded. Boromir turned and ushered two people forwards from the shadows at the side of the wall.

Them!

Leftie and Rightie, my old nemeses.

I narrowed my eyes as Dumb and Dumber tripped their way over, standing to the right of our trio and slightly in front, at full attention. I stifled the immediate (and somewhat childish) urge to run over and kick the backs of their knees, settling for quickly poking my tongue at them.

The one who had insisted I was a man (Rightie) noticed and rolled his eyes at me. I pointed at myself, them him, and then drew a finger across my neck. _I will kill you if you tell him I am a man. I will also kill you just because I dislike you. Watch where you sleep, you pain in the arse._ He rolled his eyes again (translation: _you're an idiot, shut up) _and then turned back to Denethor, who was gazing- evidently bored- out one of the windows.

"Your Emminence?" Slightly Nicer Guard Who Had Realized I Was Female Before I Told Them I Was Definitely Not Male aka Leftie asked, earning a swift elbow in the side, just underneath the ribcage, from Rightie (the git).

Denethor swivelled his head and gestured lazily for the guards to begin their story. I started to listen to their version of things (told predominantly by Rightie with Leftie interjecting here and there with useless tidbits) but stopped paying attention when I noticed Boromir's questioning gaze.

I met his stare with raised eyebrows. _What?_ He motioned at the guards and then mimicked me running a finger along my throat. _Why did you threaten to cut his oesophagus? _I shrugged. _Long story._

He rolled his eyes and we both turned back to the guards, who were still recounting their rounds before they'd even found me. Apparently it had been a strange day, they reckoned, by the fact that the sun seemed to be shining brighter than usual, an auspicious sign if ever there was one. I suspected their testimony might take a while.

Bored at the prospect of reliving my arrival through the eyes of the duo- both of whom seemed intent on drawing out the story with as many unnecessary details as possible- I cast my eyes around, looking for amusement.

My restless gaze found Faramir who was staring at his father, face impassive and stance so rigid I suspected someone had strapped a stick to his spine as a kid to get his posture so ramrod perfect. It was odd, I mused, that he looked so strangely familiar but not. Like seeing your favourite teddy bear from your childhood but it was a different colour and had red eyes instead of the usual black. Like spaghetti bolognaise but sprinkled with mayonnaise instead of cheese. Like a water bed filed with mayonnaise. Like a jar of pickles marinating in mayonnaise. Like- okay, you get it- it was strange like mayonnaise. He looked like his movie doppelgänger, yes, but there was something different. It was very disconcerting. His eyes, hair, skin and facial bones were all the same so- theoretically, he should have looked like Hollywood Faramir. But no. He looked different. And that's about as close as I could get to describing it- it wasn't much of a difference to the version I was used to, but it was enough for my mind to flip out every time I looked at him. Or Boromir. Or Denethor. They all had the same almost-kinda-sorta look from the Peter Jackson movies but _not quite_. It was enough to do a woman's poor brain in.

I sighed and looked back at Lefite and Rightie.

"Yes, so then we asked her who she was-"

"And she says her names Arya, which is a funny name if you ask me-"

"No she didn't, she didn't say her name. She said we-"

"Abducted her, right, of course, yeah, she did and then I says-"

"He says 'what', that's what he says, and so I-"

"But it's important to remember it was really hot too so it's almost understandable why she was wearing those short pants-" Leftie added, almost as an afterthought. He shot me a breathless grin. I mirrored his expression. At least he was on my side. It was strangely comforting to know that, even if the brothers would have no qualms with lugging me away at Dad's order, Leftie- at the very least- didn't mind my fashion sense.

"Yeah except it isn't acceptable-"

"I didn't say it was I said it almost-" I scowled. Traitor.

"Yeah because it isn't."

"No, that's what I said. It isn't at all."

Denethor shot them a look like lightning and they both straightened and looked ahead again, faces pale, jumping off their tangent like it was infected.

"Yeah, so then I says-"

"He says, he says-"

I was reminded, inexorably, of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Leftie looked like he was about to fall over from the stress of it all and Rightie still looked confused that Leftie would even _consider _my fashion choice acceptable. They continued on like this for a bit until Rightie finally got to the arrival of Dumbledore Pre-Hogwarts. "And it was Gandalf the Grey-"

"Gandalf the Grey it was-"

"Indeed, it was Gandalf the Grey-"

I rocked back on my heels, smirking. Who was it? I snorted and murmured under my breath- so that the siblings could still hear me, "More like Gandalf the Really, Really Old Guy." I cast a look around, "Get it?"

Boromir frowned. "That is not funny."

"Shut up, you die at the end of Game of Thrones anyway," I snapped, pointedly looking the other way when he opened his mouth to question the remark.

_Note to self: pop culture references may make things difficult. Just roll with it and don't bring up the fact that their doppelgängers in another universe are actors who also play other famous characters. Also, they're not exactly the same so that could be confusing. Maybe just treat them like different people? Yeah, that'd do it. It would be awful if I told Boromir I loved him in James Bond. What if he thought I meant I loved him? Ew, weird. Could be potentially awkward and- whoops Denethor is speaking again. Pay attention me._

"-done. That is enough. Leave us." Leftie send me an encouraging thumbs up as he skittered off, while Rightie merely poked his tongue at me. A gesture I would have gladly returned except for the fact that Denethor had resumed studying my face again.

Right. Act cool.

"It would seem, from the story my guards just told, that you didn't know Gandalf at all." I risked a glance at Faramir and found him still looking stoically ahead. Which was nice. I figured if he hated me for lying he'd probably just be glaring. I checked Boromir. He was watching me with detached curiosity. Oh man. He was probably cutting his loses before my execution. He thought I was going to die. Wow, I'm going to be hung drawn and quartered. Oh jeeze. Oh man. Get me out of here. Oh holy fu-

"Did you hear me girl?"

I snapped out of it, looking up to see everyone- including Faramir- watching me.

_Note to self: do not carried away when Stewards are waiting for you to further dig your grave with a- frankly- unbelievable story. _"Yeah," I coughed, trying to make time to think, "it's a game we play. Like, every time we see each other- after not seeing each other for ages- we pretend not to know each other. There was the one great time in, uh, in, um, that, uh, place- you know- the one to the, um, west? That one. Yeah, the one in the west. Anyway I was at a pub- in this place in the west- and I saw Gandalf, completely out of the blue in this place in the west, so I decided I'd-"

Luckily for me at that moment the grand doors behind us swung open noisily and I cut off my story, under the pretence of checking who the intruder was. To my relief and the annoyance of Denethor- who sounded like someone was choking him the amount of spluttering coming from his direction- Gandalf strode in, looking positively unflappable. In my mind 'The Party Don't Start Till I Walk In' by Ke$ha started playing, accompanying the old man as he swaggered his way down the hall towards us.

When he was around ten metres away he called out, "Greetings, Denethor, Boromir, Faramir, Arya."

I sent him a salute. "And to you, old friend of mine."

He raised an eyebrow but didn't correct me. _Thank you thank you thank you thank you. Favourite wizard ever. After Fred Weasley, of course._

Denethor, still sounding like he'd swallowed a cane toad, stood up and pointed an accusing finger at my saviour, "You! I gave strict instructions for those doors not to be opened until I had passed judgement on the woman you brought into my city! Unannounced and without my permission, like a thief in the night." He hissed, gesturing to me. I shrugged. It was more like a thief at midday but potato tomato. "And then you give her quarters without my permission like it is your place to choose who does and does not have a place in my city!"

"My apologies, Lord Steward," Gandalf began, a dangerous twinkle alight in his eyes, "I was not aware such a decree had been issued. But as to the issue of my _guest_, Arya, I think it is not your place to judge. I brought her here with me, something I did not think warranted an official audience with the Steward."

Denethor's red face turned an unappealing shade of puce, "It is well within my rights, wizard, to decide who abides in my city!"

"In _your_ city?" Gandalf asked, deceptively calm, "I was under the impression you and your ancestors were minding the city until the _real_ King arrived."

"There is no one left of that bloodline." Boromir answered levelly, seeing as his father looked like he had an aneurysm.

Denethor, at least, calmed down fractionally upon seeing his eldest defending him. Like: _whoop-de-goddamn-doo I have the support of the all mighty Boromir wow I'm so invincible now- look at me now: all invincible and stuff and yeah I'm invincible._

"I would not be so quick to think so, Boromir son of Denethor."

Boromir's fist clenched at his side and his lips twitched almost imperceptibly. Apparently when the titles come out, the gloves come off.

"Indeed? Then where is this man?"

"Or woman." I interjected, smiling innocently when Faramir looked at me incredulously, like: _is this really the time?_ I grinned at him. _Always, mon ami._

Gandalf looked ready to get into a full-blown dissertation on the noble house of The One And Only Never-Present King but Denethor interrupted, waving his hand slowly. "I am tired. This, this," he seemed to have troubles settling on a name for me and went with, "guest of yours can go back to her quarters."

I shot Gandalf a victorious smirk. Woot! Life! Praise Denethor! "_But_," I groaned, turning around and looking at Denethor who was smiling wickedly, "she will have to prove her usefulness to me. To continue staying in my city," he met my gaze, a challenge clearer than the difference between a golgi body and a mitochondria in his eyes, "you must prove your mettle."

Emboldened by Gandalf's presence at my back and the fact that I wasn't going to hung, drawn and quartered, I stared right back. "Of course, my lord. I _anxiously _await your summons."

He leant back, appraising me. "Very well. In a week's time we shall see what you can do, woman. Now, leave me." We all turned to exit, but he added, "Boromir, Faramir you two stay."

I flashed the duo a thumbs up as I left. _Still alive suckas!_

* * *

><p>Gandalf led me back to my quarters without a word. In fact, every time I opened my mouth to extol his awesomeness or ask a question, he shut me up with a wave of his hand and an impatient word.<p>

The silence chaffed at my mind, sure, but I was content to wait once we'd passed a guard who looked _just a little_ too interested in us for it to be genuine curiosity. So I stayed mute until we'd gotten back into my room, Gandy closed the door and then waved his magic staff around a bit. "To ensure no one listens in," he clarified, noticing my look. I shrugged. _Do what you want dude. You just saved me from losing my one and only head._

"So you have met the Steward then."

"Yeah, the start of a long and prosperous relationship." I replied drily, sitting down on the edge of my bed, trying not to betray the fact that my legs had been about to fold from stress and nerves.

"It seems. I imagine you have many questions."

"One or two."

"To begin with I shall explain where I have been." When I stayed silent he began. "When you arrived I knew I needed to… check… on something so I had to go to Osgiliath, hoping you would not awake before I returned, as I knew I would need to devote time in helping you adjust."

"Adjust?" I asked sharply. I hadn't told anyone about my whole 'I am going insane because this is fictional' theory yet so how could…?

"My dear, it was obvious to me when you arrived you were not from here. Your dress and way of speaking were indicators in themselves but when you told that Minas Tirith was _fictional_, well…"

I shot him a half smile. "Yeah, where I'm from this whole…" I gestured wildly to everything around me, "is a story. A legend. So, I was kind of surprised."

Gandalf's eyebrows rose but he seemed mostly unruffled by the knowledge that people had cardboard cut-outs of him back where I was from. "I imagine so."

It was strange but telling someone- anyone- that back where I was from this was Lord of the Rings, no matter how roundabout I had been in my explanation, was like a weight was lifted from my chest. I inhaled and exhaled deeply for a few seconds before the silence hit me over the head like a baseball bat. I had just told Gandalf he was a character in my world. Shouldn't the next thing he asked have been how I got here? How I had arrived in a fictional world? In fact, he was simply watching me carefully.

I narrowed my eyes at the Sage Mentor/Token Old Man Character who was watching me under his bushy brows.

"You know something."

"Ah, well, I wouldn't say that I-"

"You know why I'm here!" I accused, getting to my feet and crossing the room to point my index finger hard into his chest.

"I don't know _exactly_ why you are here but…" he trailed off and the unspoken words hug in the air between us. _But I pretty much know exactly why you're here._

I glared hotly at Gandalf. "Stop playing games. You're not even phased by me being here so you obviously know. Let me ask again: why in the name of biotechnology am I here? How? And why are you- stop smiling like that it's creepy."

He put his hands up in a placating manner and gestured to the bed. I sat, still glaring, as he waved his magic stick around (which was much larger than your average magic wand. Made me wonder if he was comepensa- no. Arya. Clean thoughts. Focus on the situation at hand) and conjured a simple white chair. He sat and sighed, leaning forwards so that his elbows pressed into his thighs. "How much do you know of Middle Earth?"

I bit back my instinctive reply- 'Ian McKellen, Sean Bean, Orlando Bloom? I know everything' – and settled for, "Well, I didn't ever really pay much attention to the- uh- legend but I know a bit. For example," I hummed, fishing around in my memory, "I know that you're not averse to smoking."

It was the best I could come up with without bursting a hole in the universe by saying something like, 'oh, hey, I remember that one time Frodo destroyed the One Ring with his bestie Samilla' no. Hang on. Wait. That was Jean's nickname for the Hobbit. What was his actual… um, Sally? No, it was male! Um, Samuel? Yeah! That was it! Samuel and Frodo.

Smug at my awesome memory remembering everything so well, I met Gandalf's gaze.

"That is hardly astonishing information."

"I can't really tell you much, you know, future paradox thing. Butterfly effect and all that."

"What is-"

"Just explain why I'm here!" I snapped, at my wit's end.

"Alright." He sat back, scrutinizing me. "Have you ever heard of the Valar?"

"Is it bad if I say no?"

"Well, they're the Gods. And myself and a few other Maiar, who are minor Gods, were sent to Middle Earth to-"

"Whoa!" I held up a hand, staring at him incredulously. "You except to drop a bombshell like 'hey I'm a God, what's happening' and for me to just- just- I don't- what- take it in stride?"

He chuckled. "I was merely-"

"Why would you even tell me that?"

He shrugged, eyes mischievous. "If you do not keep my secret I will not keep yours, and I assure you, your fate would be worse if anyone found out about…"

"About my whole 'different world' thing? Yeah, um, about that. In the interests of coming clean, well, uh, in my world you're legends because you were the past." I swallowed, trying to rectify the situation by firmly rebuilding the fourth wall with the explanation I'd planned to use on the brothers before Addrar interrupted us, "and when I say the past I mean, like, thousands of years ago the past. Where I'm from is very different from here. We have moving pictures."

To my shock Gandalf didn't even bat an over-grown lash. "I am not overly surprised. Fate works in mysterious ways."

"But- but- but you and but-"

"The reason I decided to tell you about me being a Maia-" He cut across me smoothly, still eyeing me with that annoying 'I'm so cool and all-knowing' gaze, "is that is has to do with how you arrived here."

I swallowed my protests and nodded for him to continue. "We were send to Middle Earth to keep the balance and help the Free Peoples shape the world. However one of our order, Sauron, fell to the evil of Melkor and we were tasked with helping defend the world as the five Istari. Wizards."

The bad guy was a _good guy?_ The bad guy was a _God?_ What the hell? What? How the hell did they even win the first time round then?

"As you probably know, the world is in a state of turmoil and I sense we are on the verge of embarking on a great battle."

Yeah. Like, a two-hour-a-piece movie trilogy kind of battle.

"So I prayed to the Gods for guidance. A sign. Something to help with the battle."

Please no. Oh God no.

"And, as if in a trance, I cast a spell more powerful than I had ever done and before I knew it there was a flash. I made towards the flash, knowing it was a sign from the Gods, and that is where I found you with the two guards."

Oh hot damn. That's a lot of responsibility. Oh damn. Sent by the- didn't they get it right the first time?! How was I supposed to help? What was the- oh.

I looked over at Gandalf.

Oh.

That bitch.

In the original timeline everything worked out because it was _supposed to_ and it was destined to happen. Everything would turn out fine. I didn't need to be here. But Gandalf- Mr Interfering With Everything- had gone and cast a magic spell to get himself some help (probably high on that pipe he smoked all the time) and had pulled me here. Pulled me out of my time so that I could help him. The reasonable part of my mind told me Gandalf didn't actually know that his side was going to win, so it was fair enough that he wanted to get a winning edge. But the self-entitled part of me that was _perfectly happy back in England_ was furious. I didn't even need to be here. Gandalf had screwed up and had a little panic attack and I was the solution? I was supposed to make him feel better about his chances in the impending war?

Bastard.

Cantankerous beyond belief, I threw my tube of Paw Paw Ointment at his face. It connected solidly. I smiled. "Now." I began. Advancing on the wizard who looked mightily confused. "Send me back. You don't need me here."

"It is a sign from the Valar that you-"

"No it isn't!" I screeched, smacking his arm pettily. "Look- spoiler alert- but you guys are good enough to win! I know how this legend plays out and you-"

He smacked a hand over my mouth before I could continue, a fire in his eyes that had me feeling like my organs were melting inside me. "Do not _ever_ reveal the future to me or anyone here!"

I tore his hand off. "But I know the end and I don't need to be here for that to happen, Gandalf! You can win without me. So send me back!"

Gandalf slumped, plopping back into his chair. It was then that I realized, somewhat belatedly, that we had both been standing toe-to-toe, yelling at each other. Flushing, I sat back down on the edge of the bed. "I do not know how." He said at length.

"Excuse me?" I asked, feeling a glare coming on.

"As I said, I prayed to the Valar for guidance and when I performed the spell I was in a trance-like state. They gave me the power and the words for the spell. I do not know how to reverse it. Not even the greatest of my order, Saruman the White, could."

I ran a hand through my hair. "There has to be something you can do!"

He sighed, looking lost for a moment but then straightened, meeting my eyes with trepidation and a hint of hope. "It is possible I might be able to send you back _but_," He paused, his eyes drilling holes into mine, "it will take me time to create a counter-spell."

Barely containing my joy at being able to go home, I hugged him.

He patted my back awkwardly.

I sprung away and, suddenly lighter, went to stare out of the window when a knock came from the door. I called for the person to open it and- even in my chipper state- I could tell something was wrong from the downward pull of Faramir's mouth. "What?"

Without beating around the bush, he answered, "My father has decided that, should you fail in proving yourself useful, you will be executed at dawn on the morning after your trial."

My jaw dropped open. My trial! Of course, how could I forget?

With a sinking feeling I realised that, although I may have been all child prodigy back home, I was useless here. A scientist without her tools could hardly impress anyone with her skills! And, besides from my smarts when it came to viruses, bacteria and diseases, I was practically of no use. I had no skills to speak of. I couldn't cook. I had zero athletic qualities. I wasn't pretty. I couldn't sow. And I couldn't do anything funky, like magic.

As my last chance I pivoted on my heel to look at Gandalf. "Any chance that counter-spell will be ready in a week?"

His grimace was an answer enough.

I turned back to Faramir who was watching me carefully. "Any chance that I can get away before I have to do this?"

He shook his head and added, for good measure, "My father has assigned a guard for you at all times so that you do not try to run away. I am taking the first shift."

"Right." I answered, blowing a piece of hair out of my face.

Not only was I stuck here because Gandalf had cold feet and went all magicky on me, but I also had to come up with a skill enough for Denethor- King of the Pricks and the I Hate Arya Club- to not execute me.

And no, I did not faint. Thank you very much.

I just lost control of my knees and crashed into the floor, staring at Faramir in disbelief.

As a last hope I whispered, "Any chance you could cross-dress for me and show off your skills with a sword?"

He shook his head slowly, both in horror at the idea and sorrow because- and we all knew it- I was royally screwed.


End file.
